


Love is Only Sleeping

by LotusFlair



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, References to Depression, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Songfic, The Lonely - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:35:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27782335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LotusFlair/pseuds/LotusFlair
Summary: Jon pulled Martin out of the Lonely, but taking the Lonely out of Martin is an entirely different story.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 10
Kudos: 114





	Love is Only Sleeping

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the Monkees song of the same name! It's a very good song, one of my favorites from the band. You can listen to it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rNyGl0babiQ
> 
> I've also changed the pronouns from she/her to he/him in the lyrics.

_He looked at me_  
_And the emptiness in his eyes was cruel to see_  
_Then he turned away and said,_  
_"Once I loved, but love is dead"_  
_And I whispered, "Sometimes love is only sleeping"_

Jon could see the mist lingering around Martin as they navigated as far away from the institute as possible. It hovered like a persistent aura, mocking him for thinking the Lonely was just something you could snap away. Martin seemed oblivious to its presence, but he seemed oblivious to most of his surroundings that weren't Jon keeping a tight grip on his hand as they fled. Basira had only given them quick instructions to hide out at Martin's flat for a few days while she gathered supplies and information for the next leg of whatever journey they were taking. She made it very clear, though, they were not safe in London.

Martin was quiet on the Tube, too quiet for Jon's liking. It wasn't even a content silence because Jon could practically feel the waves of anxiety and fear and loneliness radiating from him. They were all fighting for dominance to the point where Martin had gone numb out of pure desire for relief. Unfortunately, the people around them were beginning to feel the affects of Martin's retreat and Jon could only hope that once they left the enclosed space that the people would recover, eventually.

He tried to counter the cold of Martin's body language by moving closer, spreading some body heat between them. He squeezed Martin's hand, but there was no reaction. Martin continued to look down at his shoes, breathing calmly, while his glasses remained a foggy mirror of the nightmare they'd escaped. Or, at least, Jon had escaped. Martin was here, his body was with him, but his mind was going to take longer to convince.

"I'm still here, Martin," he whispered, squeezing his hand again. "I promise you, you're not alone."

He couldn't tell if Martin believed him or not, but he wasn't going to quit saying it until he did.

When they finally reached Martin's flat, Jon made sure Martin was comfortably seated on the sofa before tackling the monumental task of making tea. It was a warm, familiar drink, something Martin could latch on to as a comforting memory. He set the kettle to boil while having a minor panic attack over the tea selection available. He didn't know what tea Martin preferred. He didn't know the way Martin doctored his tea - did he doctor his tea? There was no time to waste when the kettle whistled. Grabbing the first box his fingers touched, Jon found two clean mugs and let the tea steep. It didn't matter what they drank so long as they drank it together.

A few minutes later, he brought out the mugs as well as a bowl of sugar and some milk. Better to let Martin make the tea to his linking rather than assume.

"Here," Jon said, pressing the borderline intolerably hot mug into Martin's colder-than-usual hands. He took it, but didn't react to the temperature change. "I've got some additives here for you to make it how you like it--"

"Because you don't know," Martin said. His voice was low but audible enough for Jon to hear the underlying detachment.

"Um...no, I don't. It-it wouldn't be right to remedy that by Knowing," he said. "I-I don't want to do that, especially not to you."

Martin sighed, taking a sip of tea. "Doesn't matter, not really. 'S just tea."

"Yes, but--"

"Tea can't fix me, Jon," Martin said, matter-of-factly. "You can't fix me either."

"It's not about fixing, Martin," he responded, defensively. "I just want you to know that I-I'm here for you; that I love you."

He thought the words would've sparked something, but Martin continued to stare into his tea, sipping quietly without compliment or criticism.

"I'm sure you do," he finally said and Jon felt his heart sink into his stomach.

_He said, "I cannot cry_  
_And I cannot give or feel or even try"_  
_And his voice was hard and cold_  
_Then his sweet young face looked old_  
_And I whispered, "Sometimes love is only sleeping"_

Martin remained distant well into the next two days. He slept in his bed while Jon slept on the sofa, tossing and turning without rest as he tried to figure out how to reach Martin. Even when they were only a few inches away it felt like there were still miles between them. Martin began to move about the flat as if going through his daily routine, only there was nowhere to go after showering, dressing, and preparing breakfast. They could take a walk to the corner shop, but there was still a heavy cloud of uncertainty over whether or not the Hunters, Not-Sasha, or even the police would find them if they stepped outside.

So they stayed inside and Jon tried to coax Martin into talking about anything he could think of to spark conversation. It was the most Jon had talked to another person, who wasn't trying to kill him, in a long time. Martin, unfortunately, wasn't too keen to keep up his side and Jon found himself providing a day's worth of monologues that he could've sold to theater students if he had the thought to do so. Any responses he got were short with a hint of annoyance laced through them that didn't go unnoticed. Other than the few times they'd interacted in the last year, Martin had only really spoken with Peter Lukas and the occasional staff member of the institute. It was all part and parcel of the Lonely's prerequisites, but Jon found himself stymied by Martin's refusal to engage with him on any level.

What was he doing wrong? Counteracting the Lonely was obvious in the statements: love and connection could ultimately bring anyone out of their foggy stupor. But those encounters had been brief and Martin had been involved with the Forsaken's primary avatar before being hurtled directly into the very essence of that fear. It was going to take longer than a few days and few conversations to remedy what was broken and Jon was determined to see Martin well and happy once again.

Then a terrible thought entered his mind, one that had been festering since his encounter with Peter Lukas. Martin _chose_ the Lonely, even if it was to save Jon. He chose isolation and he said he'd _loved_ Jon. _Loved_. Past tense. Jon was in love with Martin, and maybe that was enough to pull them out of the Lonely, but what if Martin didn't love him anymore? What if their separation gave Martin more insight than Jon was crediting him for? He wasn't there when Jon woke up. He didn't care to involve himself when his powers manifested or his hunger emerged victorious. He wasn't there when the threats from Basira and Melanie caused him to lie awake at night, wondering which one would have the honor of actually killing the Archivist. He certainly wasn't there when Jon looked into the Dark Star or threw himself into the coffin. And he'd laughed at him, disparaged him, for suggesting they blind themselves to stop whatever plans were in place. He'd seen enough from the outside, never mind the preceding years of disdain and paranoia, that he'd likely had a change of heart about the man he'd mistakenly fallen for.

Maybe Martin was grateful to be out of the Lonely, but that didn't automatically mean he was still in love with Jon.

These realizations continued to race through his mind even as he attempted to keep up a friendly chat about the merits and ethics of nature documentary filmmaking. Martin seemed to be listening, but there was a clear disconnect between what they were watching on the television and what Jon was saying. The conclusions he reached, however, solidified in Jon's mind, causing his voice to stutter and break into silence. Martin wasn't in any state to pick up the slack, so they sat without speaking for a while until Martin moved into the kitchen to make dinner.

When his phone went off, Jon nearly jumped several feet in the air. He calmed himself before sighing at Basira's name lit up on the screen.

"I'm going to take this outside," Jon said. He stepped out of the flat, leaning against the wall as he slid down to the floor. "Hello, Basira."

"Took you long enough to answer," she said.

"Yes, well..." he couldn't quite think of an excuse, "any news on your end?"

"Surprised you don't Know already."

"Basira," he sighed, letting the frustration of the last few days leak through, "please."

"Sorry," she said. "Investigation's gonna take a while, but I've got a place you can stay to lay low. A few weeks, at the least, maybe a couple months. Enough time to keep you off the list of suspects while I steer Sectioned officers somewhere else."

"Okay, where am I headed?" Jon asked.

"Daisy's got a safehouse in Scotland. It's far enough away, so if anyone _is_ looking for you it'll take them a while," she said.

"And you don't think Daisy would mind?" he asked, cautiously.

"She's not in a position to say anything about it at the moment," Basira responded, bluntly.

"No, I suppose she isn't," he said.

"I'll drop off your things from the archives, some statements, provisions, and the key tomorrow morning," she said. "Try to get out of London as soon as you can. I'll send you some train schedules."

"Sure."

She paused for a moment.

"How's Martin?" she asked.

Jon sighed. "I don't...I don't know if I'm the best person to reach him. I don't know if he wants me to be that person."

"Really? After everything that's happened?" she asked.

"He's...not much has changed since we left the institute," Jon said. "And - quite honestly - I don't know what to do."

"Jon...do you want me to make different arrangements for Martin?"

He froze, unsure how to answer.

_Through the endless days and nights_  
_He could not help but wrap himself in sorrow (sorrow)_  
_Through the endless days and nights_  
_He waited for a shiny new tomorrow_  
_Love was sleeping, sleeping_

Jon was still awake when Basira dropped everything off at the door at three in the morning. She didn't knock, just left the items and walked away. She must've assumed Jon would Know she'd been there and he understood the need to not have a conversation. Martin had gone to bed not long after dinner, claiming he was tired but Jon suspected he just didn't want to be trapped in another endless lecture based on whatever topic popped into Jon's head. It was yet another reason why Jon hesitated to let him know about leaving London.

Between the two of them, Martin would have an easier time remaining in the city. Lukas was gone, but he was rarely seen anyway, so the absence and the excuses would be more acceptable coming from his assistant. Jon had already been a murder suspect less than a year ago. He was likely to end up the prime suspect and it would be unfair to Martin to drag him along on yet another escape from the law.

Maybe he'd have a better chance of recovering if Jon wasn't a constant reminder of his misplaced love.

"What're you doing?" Martin asked. Jon jumped, a yelp escaping that vibrated through the flat. He hadn't heard the door to Martin's bedroom open or felt his presence as he approached. The Lonely still helped him remain silent and invisible even if he wasn't trying.

"Sorry," Jon said. "You scared me."

"Sorry," Martin said, his voice still flat. Jon watched his eyes as they lingered on the duffel bag he'd set on the sofa. "What's that?"

"Um...Basira left it. There's clothes, money, a few statements; everything I need to get to Scotland," he explained.

"Scotland?"

"Daisy has a safehouse there. I don't know what good it will do, but the distance...it couldn't hurt," Jon said. "I've got a schedule on my phone for King's Cross and there's a train at six that will get me to Inverness by dinner. I'll - I'll figure it out from there."

The frown on Martin's face slowly morphed into a scowl as Jon continued to talk. "So that's it, then? You were just going to leave? Sneak away under the cover of nightfall?"

"Basira can make arrangements--"

"That's not - you said I wouldn't be alone anymore, Jon! And now you're going to leave me. Alone," Martin said, the frustration and anger in his voice palpable.

"I-I don't know what you want me to say, Martin. I-I've been trying this whole time," Jon said. "You've barely acknowledged that I was in the room with you for three days!"

"I was in the thick of the Lonely! That doesn't just go away! You can't compel me to be better!"

"I understand that - and clearly I'm not helping the situation, or you, for that matter," Jon said. "You shouldn't be punished for my mistakes and you certainly don't deserve to be hidden away in Scotland with someone you don't care to be around."

He looked up and found a very different Martin staring back at him than the one he'd been dealing with the past three days. His body shook with pent up anger and sadness as tears gathered in his eyes.

"Everything I did this year - Everything - was for you, Jon," he said, his voice quivering under the weight of previously muted emotions. "How could you possibly think I wouldn't want to be around you?"

"You said you loved me in the Lonely. Loved," Jon explained. "And when I said 'I love you' you barely reacted. Love - connection, they're supposed to push the Lonely back, but nothing I do - nothing I did seemed to work. You were just as distant from me as we were at the institute. Maybe more so. I-I assumed you'd finally reached your limit; fallen out of love with me for good. I can understand why and - and it's not fair for you to give up your freedom and safety to run away to Scotland with me."

"I was scared," Martin said after a long breath of silence.

"What?"

"Even after we were out of the Lonely, I...it didn't feel real to me," Martin said. He sniffled, wiping his sleeve across his eyes and stuffed nose. "I thought there was no version of this story where I lived and was rescued by the - by the man I love. It's too easy and nothing about our lives has been easy. If anything, the last four years have been needlessly complicated."

Jon let out a short huff of a laugh at the absurdity of their lives. Even in the dim light of the flat he could see a smile tugging at Martin's lips.

"And I thought - I thought that you were just saying those beautiful things, talking to me, out of obligation," Martin continued. "You had to rescue me because I couldn't - couldn't do what needed to be done. You could've died in the Lonely as easily as me and it would've been my fault. I pushed you away for nothing and-and for you to say that _you love me_...How could I deserve that after everything I put you through?"

"Martin--"

"I'm sorry for pushing you away again," he said. "It was easier to assume the worst, safer. I don't think I could bear it if I got my hopes up and lost you again, Jon."

Jon stepped closer, tentatively reaching out his hand. He made contact with Martin's jumper, watching his body language for any sign that the touch was unwanted. If anything, Martin seemed to relax when he felt the warmth of Jon's hand seep through the fabric. Letting boldness guide him, Jon pulled Martin to him, greedily gathering as much of him as could possibly fit in his arms. Martin sank into the hug, his body swaying into Jon's without hesitation and the smaller man immediately felt the comforting embrace as Martin took full advantage of the situation. There they stood, two full grown men in the middle of a living room, comforting each other in the light of dawn. For the first time in Jon couldn't remember when he felt at peace. This was right, this place in Martin's life and in his arms. Whatever else awaited them, whatever nightmares were on the horizon, as long as he had Martin with him he knew he could face them.

"Please, don't leave me," Martin whispered. "Don't leave me alone, Jon."

Jon took Martin's hands and brought them to his lips, kissing the curled fingers lovingly.

"Martin, will you runaway with me to Scotland?" Jon asked.

More tears spilled over as Martin smiled, nodding his head.

"I'd love nothing more," Martin said. "Oh, I need to pack if we want to keep to your schedule."

"No rush," Jon said, fondly. "We have - we have so much time now."

"Well...there is one thing to do before we go," Martin said. He leaned forward and captured Jon's mouth in his. There was a moment where Jon lost hold of his mind as new sensations of touch and sound and taste filled him to the brink of overstimulation. He'd never felt so present, so firmly and lovingly immersed in one moment. It was glorious and even as Martin backed away he couldn't wait to experience it again. Forever, if possible. "Just so it's out of the way, for now."

"Yes," Jon agreed. "Plenty of time later."

"Yeah?"

"Mmhmm. Ten hour train ride, for starters."

Martin was packed in record time. Hand in hand, they left London together.

_He looked at me_  
_And his smiling tears were warm and sweet and free_  
_And the moonlight kissed his eyes_  
_As it mingled with our sighs_  
_And he whispered, "Sometimes love is only sleeping"_  
_And he whispered, "Sometimes love is only sleeping"_  
_Only sleeping..._


End file.
